


now this story was when swords were humble

by friendly_ficus



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Codex Entries, F/F, Grief/Mourning, but also an au where yasha is just... awakening swords unknowingly?, i love imagining what history would look like in exandria don’t mind me, i miss sentient weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 22:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18353264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendly_ficus/pseuds/friendly_ficus
Summary: The sword is not -the song of it in her hands, the weight as she turns, the bite of the edge as she drives it home, all-consuming, blood of allies and enemies alike dripping from the blade -The sword is not alive. But Yasha is.(Or: Flint, Theora. “Xhorhasian Weaponry.” InBlades of the Fourth Age: The Wildemount Conflict of 835 PD,edited by Arawyn de Rolo, 257-295. Westruun: Cobalt Reserve, 935 PD.)





	now this story was when swords were humble

  Sometimes, the weight of a weapon on her back feels like a muscle, an extension of her shoulders and back, waiting. Dormant, somehow, like rage or like wings. Yasha does not often walk softly - she is unaware of her own echo through the ages to come.

\---

  The greatsword is inelegant, scored with scratches and a little warped from the acid of some wild monster. It was scavenged in the way that the Dolorov Tribe scavenges goods like this; that is to say, it was either taken as plunder or found in the belly of some great beast they had hunted for food. In these days, Yasha does not consider morals beyond the ones that come with starvation and survival. With Sky Spear leading them and the title of Orphan-Maker draped across her shoulders, one sword does not rate any notice. The tribe cannot eat steel, no matter how Yasha wonders at the heft of the sword in her hands. She resigns herself to leaving it behind.

  It is Zuala who saves it, when they are packing up the tents and moving on. It is Zuala who saves so many things in Yasha’s life. She covers the sword with the heavy fabric that occasionally serves as a cover from the rains and brings it to the next hunting spot, puts it in Yasha’s hands with a smile and a hopeful look. 

  “I’m not sure how you’ll hunt with a thing like this, Yasha,” she teases gently, “It is not subtle. Still, I will help you if it brings you joy.”

  But Zuala finds some strips of serviceable leather and re-wraps the grip when it is ruined by moisture and age, and Yasha grows a little bolder with her attacks as they train. 

  Days, weeks, months later, Zuala grins and ducks under a heavy swing as they practice-fight, spear darting forward to skim past Yasha’s chin, the smallest cut blooming from the impact. It doesn’t hurt, not really, but Zuala dabs at the wound gently when their fight ends, her spear and Yasha’s greatsword planted in a loose part of the swampy clearing. 

  Yasha has proven her worth with the heavy greatsword, has fought Sky Spear before the whole of the Dolorov and lasted long enough for the leader to recognize her proficiency with the weapon. It is accepted that she bring the weapon with her as they move, because it provides enough food to counter the additional space it takes up. She does not need to train with Zuala like this anymore, in secret. 

  And yet... and yet. The sword makes sense in her hands, and  _ Zuala.  _ Zuala holds her face carefully, like Yasha is something fragile, something precious, something to be protected. The sword makes sense in her hands and Zuala makes sense in her arms.

  Sky Spear won’t understand, the tribe won’t understand, their marriage will never be approved - but Yasha will have this one rebellion. She will have the light in Zuala’s eyes and the enduring strength of her love, sure as a weapon in her hands.

  (When. When Zuala. When Sky Spear  _ discovers.  _ When Yasha runs, the metal burns her hands and she cannot carry it without hearing echoes of Sky Spear’s condemnation on the wind. She leaves the greatsword plunged into the loose Xhorhasian dirt.)

\---

**_Blade of Broken Oaths_ **

   Discussed in the famed Xhorhasian epic  _ Ifolon _ , which dominates popular Xhorhasian narratives of the Conflict of 835, the Blade of Broken Oaths appears in the introduction of a main character. The relevant passage is as follows:

  “Now returning,

   vengeance-bearing,

   warrior reaching for her blade.

   Broken Oath turned to restoring,

   swathes of violence,

   bold crusade.”

  Many Xhorhasian poems and songs of this time touch on themes of returning home and restoring what had been lost - the Blade of Broken Oaths may simply serve as a symbol for the cultural attitudes of the time. The lifting of the curse on the weapon, which occurs later in the poem, may reflect a larger idea of curing ails in Xhorhasian society. The whereabouts of the sword itself are unknown and its existence is not confirmed, and the name of the warrior in this epic is never stated. Whether that is because she was such a well-known figure that it was unnecessary to record her identity or because she was unknown even then has not been determined by historians at this time. 

_ For notes on the variations and themes of traditional Xhorhasian epics and formal dynastic Kryn poetry, see _ Darrington, Mariya III. _ A Dynasty United: Court Poetry and Propaganda in the Reign of Leylas Kryn.  _ Deastok: Darrington Foundation, 906 PD.

\---

  It shines in the moonlight, on the back of the merchant’s wagon, and all the money she’s earned from the Carnival is passed to the weaponsmith before she can second-guess the purchase.  _ It is right _ , her aching heart whispers,  _ it is right to hold a weapon like this again. _ Yasha straps the greatsword to her back and heads back into the tent where the other members of Fletching and Moondrop are hanging out. 

  Mollymauk grins as she enters, shuffles his new deck of cards and offers to read her fortune, but she declines. It’s all in good fun, the two of them and the rest of the circus against everyone else, but Yasha never, ever accepts the offer. She does not want to know if she is cursed, if her suffering is destined.

  When she shows him the sword Molly watches her face carefully. The soft glow of the moonlight on the blade reflects from his growing collection of jewelry, casts his face in strange shadows. He’s never seen her use a greatsword.

  (Since Zuala, it’s been so painful - Yasha has been making do with clubs and other weapons, as she waits for her grief to be less sharply-edged. Time. It all takes time.)

  They are not yet as close as they will be, she and Mollymauk, but he watches the set of her face for a moment and smiles a more honest smile. He mentions something about the Moonweaver and prophetic signs and “other bullshit,” but under the moon Yasha has a friend and a sword and a quiet grief in her chest.

  They have become the kind of things that she can bury - the greatsword in the gut of a roadside bandit and the grief in the back of her mind. It has receded into something liveable, less cutting with every inhale, worn smooth as a river stone but still heavy on her heart. Zuala,  _ Zuala, I am trying. I am trying. I am trying to continue on. _

  Mollymauk Tealeaf and the other members of the Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities, Gustav with the shadow behind his eyes and Kyrle and Ornna and Toya and Bo and Moondrop and the sisters, they give her a reason to keep breathing. They give her something to protect. And Yasha needs something to protect so very badly. 

  The Carnival gives her that much, and more. It ends, but everything ends eventually. Somehow, everything passes out of her life. The Mighty Nein, maybe, will be different.

  Yasha passes the moon-touched greatsword to a Pumat Sol, watches it vanish behind a counter in the Invulnerable Vagrant. A weapon is a tool, is survival, is a promise that she will get back up and protect her friends. In the sunlit shop the blade was dim and unshining, but Yasha remembers moonlight. The sword remembers this, remembers scaring bandits off and being the bulwark against angry townsfolk, remembers devotion.

  (Pumat Sol, Prime to his other selves, looks through his goggles at the enchantment on the blade and wonders at the new magic curling through the common nature of it. The enchantment is a little like a spiderweb, a little like an exoskeleton, a little like lightning, fizzing at the edges - if it keeps growing across the metal, well, there might be something interesting about the sword after all. 

   He sells it to an adventurer a week later. There  _ is  _ a war on, after all.)

\---

**_Lightning-Struck Moonsword_ **

   Made famous in the song  _ Dawn Over the Ashkeeper Peaks,  _ the Lightning-Struck Moonsword was the weapon of Dwendalian war-hero Marta Palme. Palme allegedly used the sword in what she thought would be her final battle, turning back a Krynn attack during a heavy thunderstorm and the subsequent landslide that claimed the lives of the rest of her unit. 

  It is said that the sword “channeled the fury of the Empire itself” during Palme’s efforts to hold the border, but Palme herself is rumored to have worshipped the Stormlord. Speculation that she called on the god for aid has rarely been discussed, as it would make her a heretic under Dwendalian law. These rumors did not prevent her meteoric rise through the Dwendalian military or her continued service in Bladegarden during the Conflict of 835, but they may have played a role in her disappearance in 839 PD.

  The Lightning-Struck Moonsword is currently held in private collection in Wildemount.

_ For notes on historical religious policy in the Dwendalian Empire, see  _ Hass, Oremid. _ Law and the Foundation of Religion in the Dwendalian Empire, 432-655 PD.  _ Rexxentrum: Soltryce Academy Press, 832 PD.

_   For notes on Marta Palme and other folk heroes of the Conflict of 835 PD, see  _ Fedar, Wyatt Jr. _ Vanishing Act: Collective Memory and the Heroes of the Dwendalian Empire.  _ Zadash: Cobalt Archive, 902 PD.

\---

  The Magician’s Judge is different, when Yasha holds it, when she swings. It doesn’t hum in her hands but there’s something about it, some purpose already in the blade, embedded in the metal. Too long is has been on a wall - what good is a tool that does not see use, and a weapon is nothing if not a tool.

  (Too long without use, without distraction, and her arms grow sore and Zuala’s face slips through her dreams like a ghost, a lovely apparition. If she does not walk on, does not follow the Stormlord or the Mighty Nein or whoever is leading her, does not collect flowers and does not  _ fight,  _ well. There are still days when grief feels like drinking a cup of fish hooks and nails and other jagged things.) 

  In Labenda Swamp, the bowl shudders and creaks and  _ howls  _ under the swing of the sword but Magician’s Judge is purposeful, is unwavering - lightning crawls over Yasha’s skin and she hears a distant roar, a five-headed thunder echoing somewhere far away.

  “You’ll have to be careful now,” Calianna says cautiously, but there is an ease in her shoulders and a joy in her dragon-eye that fills Yasha with satisfaction. The sword is meant for this, meant to make people safe, meant to do a difficult task for the greater good. It is not a tool for picking flowers, but that’s alright; Yasha has two good hands for that.

  (On her back, at the edges of her consciousness, the sword sighs softly. Or it is only the wind.)

  When she fights the storm on the deck of the Balleater, rain plastering her hair to her face and visions threading through her head, the sword is  _ singing singing singing  _ as she plunges it into the heart of the lightning-beast. It falls from her hands on the mast but that is not important - Mollymauk is dead but that is not important - Zuala is dead but even that is not important, not now, because  _ Yasha  _ is the weapon, is the blade, and she reaches into the lightning and wraps her hand around the pulse of electricity. And she flies from the mast, or she falls, but her purpose is true and her mission is clear and her god favors her. 

  Charred, hair burnt and blood mingling with the rain, Yasha takes up Magician’s Judge and slings it onto her back.  _ Loss is inevitable,  _ the Stormlord reminded her, but as much as Yasha is an executioner she is even more a protector. She will not allow it any nearer, will carry whatever weapon and slay whatever beast that threatens these friends she has.

  (In Yasha’s dreams Magician’s Judge whispers without a voice, nonsense-phrases, names that have no meaning to her and crimes far older than she will ever be. It feels... right is not the word. It is correct, it is proper - a weapon is a tool and Yasha is a wielder of tools and it is right and proper that she uses it.)

  Caleb’s eyes are fearful as he fills the cavern with fire. The sword hums in her hands, pulling her; it knows its purpose and there is a mage, here, doing what should not be done.  _ That  _ is what lets her swing, a single weighty blow to cut across his chest and spill his blood in the scorching air of the underground space. This is the purpose of the sword, it was made for this, suffered years of disuse after failing at this very act; mage-killing is not for the faint of heart, and a sword has no concept of mercy. 

  (After, when Caleb looks at her with a trace of fear in his eyes, mixed with regret, Yasha wonders if - does this mean they are friends. Can Caleb be a friend to someone who has spilled his blood. Magician’s Judge wonders none of these things. It is a sword, a tool; it does not wonder anything at all.)

  In her own hands, her own rage coursing through her body, the voice of another demon weaving through her ears - it seems simple, to butcher her friends. Beau hits her and hits her and hits her again until the charm breaks but her rage is stronger now that this thing took her mind and bent it away from its purpose. Magician’s Judge rages with her, the taste of lightning crackles in her mouth and Yasha does not remember ever being this angry, this cold and sharp and deadly. She is honed to a dangerous edge and  _ gods, Zuala, what have I done. _

  (She does not wonder why the sword did not stop her, because it is not a thinking thing. But the weight of it is almost apologetic on her back, after. As sorry as a tool can be.)

\---

**_The Magician’s Judge_ **

   The Magician’s Judge, often confused with the Sword of Disenchantment depicted in histories of the Julous Dominion, was forged as an executioner’s blade during the Age of Arcanum. 

  During the Conflict of 835 PD, it was wielded by Yasha Nydoorin, a member of the ever-controversial Mighty Nein. Nydoorin’s motivations and the choices made by the Mighty Nein continue to be debated by scholars at the time of this publication, and are better left to biographers to puzzle over. What is clear is that Nydoorin used the Magician’s Judge with great success during the Conflict of 835 and in the years that followed. 

_ For notes on the Julos Dominion, see  _ Nuoi, Sprigg.  _ Bread and Copper Ingots: The Fall of an Empire _ . Unknown City: Atheneeum Publications, XXX PD. 

_ For notes on the Age of Arcanum, see  _ Vysoren, Allura. _ Unraveling the Past: Collected Notes on Pre-Calamity Magics.  _ Vasselheim: Cobalt Vault, 828 PD.

_ For notes on the Mighty Nein and Yasha Nydoorin, see  _ Brenatto, Luke and Shuster, Kiri.  _ Welcome to the Mighty Nein.  _ Zadash: Erudition Press, 849 PD.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Sword, a poem by Sydney S. Salt.  
> Half of the motivation for this fic was my love for Yasha and my love of magical weapons (lady+big sword, what more do I need to say), the other half was my urge to write excerpts from a fake exandrian history text that let me reference other made up books in a very self-indulgent way. It's been like a year since I wrote that Whitestone history fic and imagining the academia of exandria is still my most ridiculous niche interest within critical role. I am allowed to return to this well. yes they would be citing books in something close to Chicago Style do NOT question that it is important to me  
> Writing this was really fun, let me know what you think!


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